


Floating Past the Tree Line

by embroiderama



Series: Redwing AU [3]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Police, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 23:54:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal has an art show opening, his first since he and Peter met, and Peter helps to make the day even better and more special. At the same time, Neal starts to make some more positive connections with Peter's work life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Floating Past the Tree Line

**Author's Note:**

> This is an overgrown timestamp to my Peter/Neal AU [The Heart is Still a Redwing](http://embroiderama.livejournal.com/572175.html), and may not make a great deal of sense out of context. Peter is a detective, and Neal is not a criminal, but they met when Neal was the victim of a violent crime. The title is from Hem's song "Redwing." In regards to the timeline, I've determined that the [previous timestamp](http://embroiderama.dreamwidth.org/563168.html) occurred before the epilogue of the main story. The epilogue was set just before Thanksgiving, and this fic is set a couple of weeks after that.

The sun had woken Neal early, even though it was a Saturday morning and neither he nor Peter needed to be anywhere until late afternoon. He had a gallery opening that evening, his first since the head injury, and while he'd gotten good responses from his friends, waiting to hear the public and critical response was more than a little bit nerve-wracking. His work was a window into the path he'd taken through recovery, both in terms of his brain and of his mind, and he could only hope that other people would find some meaning in it, too.

Peter was still asleep and had stayed that way through Neal getting up to use the bathroom, no doubt due to a week full of overtime, long hours trying to solve crimes that he never talked about with Neal. He was careful to keep his work life away from their relationship, that much was clear, and sometimes Neal hated himself for that, hated the weakness in him that needed that separation. And sometimes the thickness of that barrier Peter had put up between work and Neal was frustrating because Neal wasn't certain he _did_ need that level of protection.

He didn't freeze at the sight of police cars or officers in uniforms. Not most of the time. Not anymore. He wished, sometimes, that Peter would trust him to deal with more of his work life but he understood why Peter was careful. Neal understood how much it would hurt Peter to cause him pain, and he loved Peter for that. With a bottle of water in hand, Neal got back in bed and sat cross-legged watching Peter sleep. He had the covers pushed down to his waist, not a surprise given the way the sun was warming the room, and Neal took in the way the light was revealing the lines of muscle in his arms and chest, the solid strength of him that Neal couldn't help but lean into sometimes.

Peter wasn't some untouched Adonis sculpted from marble; he was a man with imperfections, which was all the more interesting to Neal. There was a scar low on his belly that Neal assumed was from a long-ago appendectomy and another on his arm that Neal suspected came from a bullet wound. He hadn't asked; he wasn't sure he wanted to know. And besides, Peter didn't ask about Neal's scars, and there were more than he liked to think about. The small scars from his surgery after the mugging that had brought Peter into his life were hidden under Neal's hair where he could feel but not see them, but there were others.

Some were innocuous: the scar on his shin from crashing his bike when he was eight, the small burn on the underside of his forearm from being careless near the stove. More were from his father, and he was glad that most of those were on his back where he didn't have to see them. They weren't gruesome, but Peter couldn't have missed them, and Neal was grateful that he didn't mention them. Unlike most of Neal's lovers in the past, Peter had known the story before they ever went to bed together, and he was kind enough not to make Neal repeat the story he'd told that evening after the panic attack that had made it impossible to avoid revealing his past.

After that, making love had been nothing but joy and the exhilaration of exploring Peter for the first time. By that time, he'd already laid himself far more bare, even with his clothes on. For once, he didn't think he would regret it.

Neal wanted to touch Peter, but he couldn't let himself wake Peter from his much-needed sleep so he did the next best thing and slipped out of bed to get a sketchbook and his set of oil pastels then sat back down at the foot of the bed where he could get a better view of his lover. He lost himself in exploring the lines of Peter's body, the play of light on his skin, the rumpled fabric of the covers that obscured his lower half, the disheveled hair on his forehead, the calm set of his face as he slept. Neal's mind kept trying to spin off into worrying about how the opening would go, but it wasn't difficult to steer his attention back to the sleeping man in front of him. He was touching up the shading on Peter's arms when Peter snuffled and woke. He opened his eyes and smiled softly before sitting up and stretching his arms over his head.

"Hey, good morning. Is it still morning?"

"Good morning. It's only 9:30."

"Mmm, thanks for letting me sleep in."

"You should sleep longer. I know you're exhausted."

Peter sighed. "Maybe later, but I'm awake now. What are you doing down there, anyway?"

Neal shrugged and held up the pastel in his hand. "I couldn't resist. I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not." Peter moved to sit on the edge of the bed and looked at the back of Neal's sketchpad for a moment before standing up and pulling on his boxers. "I'll be right back."

"I'll be right here." Neal watched Peter walk off toward the bathroom then added a couple of quick finishing touches to his sketch before setting it aside. When Peter came back, he knelt up on the bed and leaned in for a kiss, light and lingering, tasting of toothpaste.

Peter sat back then and nodded over at the sketchbook. "Can I see?"

"It's just a sketch, but sure." Neal handed it over and watched Peter's face.

Peter stared at it for a long moment then looked back up at Neal, his eyebrows drawn together. "Is this how you see me?"

The drawing was far from photorealistic, but Neal didn't think that's what Peter was getting at. "Yes," he answered simply.

Peter looked down at it again, tilting it back and forth a little in the light. "Thank you," he said, his voice quiet, as if speaking with any more volume would reveal too much emotion.

Neal took the sketchbook from his hands and set it to the side then put his hand on Peter's face and kissed him again, more deeply this time. He could have stayed there all morning, not really moving toward sex but just filling up his senses with Peter's presence, but then Neal's stomach growled and he sat back, laughing despite himself.

"So, breakfast?" Peter said, smiling. "Then maybe a movie to distract you for a while before you go to the gallery and I go home for a while?"

"That sounds good. You're still coming to the opening?" Neal tried to make the question sound as casual as possible.

Peter nodded then put his hand behind Neal's head and leaned in to plant a kiss on his forehead. It felt strangely comforting, like a blessing. "I wouldn't miss it," he said, close enough for Neal to feel his breath, and Neal felt that twinge of anxiety relax inside of him.

"Thank you," he said. "What do you want to do for breakfast?"

"Eggs? I saw some in your fridge, right? I can cook while you take a shower, then I'll clean up after we eat."

"Are you implying that I take longer to get ready?"

Peter laughed. "Considering that it takes about ten minutes to make eggs and toast, that would be no. Now go before I make you do the cooking."

Neal thought about inviting Peter to shower with him, but the reality was that his bathroom was too cramped to make that fun. "Be right back," he said before hurrying off to take a quick shower. He was too hungry to linger under the hot water anyway.

~~~

After the movie, Neal saw Peter to the subway station then went back home to June's. He put the suit he was planning to wear for the opening into a garment bag along with his shoes and accessories then double-checked to make sure he had everything. Jacket, pants, shirt, shoes, tie, pocket square, tie pin, cuff-links. Something was missing, and after a moment he shook his head and went to get a pair of black dress socks. He expected to do some reorganizing of his work once he got to the gallery, and he didn't want to do that in his good suit.

Of course, he didn't have to wear a suit at all, but he needed to dress more casually to work with the kids at Ellen's Place and he enjoyed having the opportunity to dress well on occasion. There was a part of him that couldn't help remembering that he'd been targeted for wearing a nice suit, just over a year ago now. That suit had been one of his favorites, one June had given him from her late husband's vintage collection, but it was long gone--bled on and cut up and thrown away. He remembered too clearly the way he had run from the hospital, from the threat of cops coming to take his report, in just his suit pants and t-shirt. He hadn't even realized how cold he was until June found him sitting on the stairs and wrapped him in a blanket.

He had thought that all he needed was some stitches in the emergency room and then his own space, his own bed. He had felt awful but he'd never imagined that his brain was injured, leaking blood slowly but surely. Going to the police station to talk to Peter had almost certainly saved his life, and Neal was very aware of the irony. He was also grateful--to Peter for being persistent, to himself for being brave and to June for protecting him and making sure he got the best care. And to fate for once again conspiring to give him a safe place to land.

In any case, Neal's love of fine suits wasn't a part of himself that he was willing to give up to the man who had hurt him. Garment bag in hand, Neal left to catch a cab to the gallery in Brooklyn.

~~~

Neal was fussing with the placement of one of his paintings, trying to position it where it would catch just the right light, when he heard somebody come in through the front door of the gallery. It didn't sound like the gallery manager, Holly, who Neal had never seen in less than four inch heels, and he cursed under his breath. It was an hour until the opening started, and while the set-up was just about done he hadn't changed into his suit yet. He forced a smile on over his irritation and turned to go politely kick out the early bird, but instead he found Peter standing just inside the door.

"Hi," Neal said, smiling for real now. Peter looked fantastic in perfectly fitted dark jeans that made his legs look deliciously long with a green button-down that was open at the neck with no tie and a black jacket. He had his winter coat folded over his arm--smart, given that the forecast called for the unseasonably warm temperatures to give way to the usual early December chill.

"I hope you don't mind that I'm early. I thought you might need some help setting up or something."

"No, I'm glad to see you. Everything's pretty much set up and maybe with you here I can avoid spending the next half hour changing it all around."

Peter laughed quietly then walked over to plant a quick kiss on Neal's mouth. "I'll try my best. By the way, is this okay?" He gestured to himself. "I brought a tie, and I put a pair of black dress slacks in my car. I didn't know how well-dressed I needed to be for my role as your arm candy."

"I think you're something a little more substantial than candy, but you're perfect. You look great."

"Well, thanks." Peter stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged.

"So you drove in?" Peter usually took the subway during his off-duty hours, since parking was such a hassle.

"You're the star of the show tonight. It's not quite a stretch limo, but I thought you deserved a personal ride home tonight."

"Thank you. I think I'll be glad not to have to deal with the subway or with finding a cab later."

"Exactly. So, you're sure there's nothing I can do to help?"

"You can keep me company while I get changed." Neal walked around Peter to flip the lock on the door since Holly had apparently left it open, then led the way back to the small room in the back where Neal had his suit hung up. It wasn't much bigger than a closet, but it had a chair, a small table, and a hook on the wall so it served Neal's purposes.

"I can definitely help with this." Peter put his hands on Neal's hips then pushed up his sweater along with the shirt underneath and peeled them off of him.

"I do know how to undress myself." Neal smirked, but Peter just shook his head.

"You get the star treatment tonight. Remember?" Peter unbuttoned Neal's chinos then looked Neal up and down before nudging him to walk backward to the chair and then to sit down. Peter sank to his knees, and Neal raised his eyebrows.

"This is starting to look like the porn star treatment." Not that Neal minded. It was hard to mind much of anything when Peter was on his knees, his eyes dark with intent.

"I can leave you alone to change if you want." Peter moved as if to stand, and Neal leaned forward to put a hand on his shoulder.

"Stay. Please."

Peter nodded then shrugged out of his jacket and set it aside. He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves one by one, moving so slowly and deliberately that Neal had to bite his lip in frustration. He was getting hard before Peter ever touched him, but then Peter slipped his hand inside Neal's open fly and Neal gasped at the thrill of contact. He spread his knees as wide as the chair would allow and tilted his hips to give Peter better access. Peter pumped his hand up and down Neal's cock--slowly, too slow--keeping eye-contact with Neal the whole time.

It felt more intimate than any handjob Neal had ever received before, but then Peter bent down and took the head of cock into his mouth. He was everywhere then, and Neal closed his eyes to lose himself in the sensations. Peter's mouth and tongue were soft and warm and one of his hands was touching the base of Neal's cock and his balls while the other was pushed inside his boxers. He felt the breadth of Peter's palm cupping his ass, slightly rough fingertips teasing at sensitive skin. Neal gripped the arms of the chair to hold himself in place, to keep himself from grabbing hold of Peter and taking control.

Neal had given that control to Peter for the moment--freely, gladly--and reminding himself of that helped him to let go. He didn't even try to differentiate the sensations, he just rode the wave of pleasure until everything was too much, overwhelming and then suddenly perfect as he shook and came apart in Peter's hands. In Peter's mouth. Neal opened his eyes, and in the middle of the pleasantly hazy glow he saw Peter sitting back on his heels, licking his lips and looking pleased with himself.

"Give me a minute," Neal said as he struggled to find a regular rhythm for breathing again. "I can--" he gestured at Peter, but Peter just smiled and shook his head slowly.

"I'm good. This was for you.

Neal thought about arguing, but he was too relaxed and Peter certainly didn't look like a man who felt the situation was unfair. "Mmm, thanks."

Peter stood and nodded his head toward the door. "I'm going to go find the restroom to clean up a bit. Stay right there."

"No problem." Neal gave Peter a groggy smile then let his head drop back to rest against the wall. He had a big evening ahead of him, and he still wanted everything to go just as it should, but somehow he couldn't find the motivation to worry as much as he had earlier. Peter clearly had magical blow-job powers. Neal snickered to himself at the thought but repeated it in his head all the same. _Magical blow-job powers._ Definitely.

By the time Peter came back into the room with clean hands and re-buttoned shirtsleeves, Neal felt like he was back on the plane of mundane reality but still far more relaxed than he'd been before Peter arrived. He stood up and got the rest of the way undressed then let Peter help him put on his suit. Peter wasn't much of a valet and Neal didn't need the help, but there was something decadent about letting Peter button his shirt and attach his cufflinks. Neal insisted on tying his own tie, and when the finishing touches were all perfect he examined himself the best he could in the room's small, scuffed mirror.

Peter whistled in appreciation. "You clean up better than anybody I've ever seen before in my life. That's not even hyperbole."

Neal thanked Peter with a kiss then took a deep breath before heading out to wait for the opening to start.

~~~

When Neal looked at his watch a few hours later and realized that it was almost time for the gallery to close he was startled that the evening had gone by so quickly. The crowd had dwindled down to few people other than Peter, Holly and Neal's art agent Evelyn, but the gallery had been bustling for most of the evening. His friends had been kind enough to take time out of their weekends to attend, and it was a pleasure to look up from an obligatory discussion with somebody he didn't know to see June and her granddaughter gliding through the room or to see Peter and El talking, seeming to debate something about one of his paintings. Most of the current group of resident artists and teachers from Ellen's Place stopped by, including Sara and her boyfriend.

More surprising was the appearance of some of Peter's co-workers. Diana and her girlfriend were not so unexpected; Peter's partner had started to get involved in the basketball group he was putting together, and she had been kind to Neal since their first meeting. When Neal looked up to see Peter shaking hands with a rangy older man he didn't think anything of it until Peter brought the man over to where Neal was standing.

"Neal, I'd like you to meet my captain, Reese Hughes."

Neal startled then reached out to shake hands. "Captain Hughes, it's nice to meet you."

"It's good to finally meet you as well. Peter's been talking about you for long enough--and he's mentioned this art thing of yours enough times--that I thought it was time to put a face with the name."

Neal glanced over at Peter and caught a fond if somewhat bashful smile. For all that Peter kept his work life from Neal he clearly didn't keep his personal life out of his workplace, and it made Neal strangely happy to imagine Peter talking about this event with his captain. He appreciated, too, that Hughes was polite enough not to mention that he could have very well seen Neal's face in the case file from the serial muggings. Hughes looked sharp enough that the fact of it surely didn't escape him, but there wasn't any kind of pity or suspicion in his eyes. No cruelty either. "Thank you for coming tonight, sir. It's an honor."

Hughes gave a dry laugh and shook his head. "It's my pleasure. I'll let you get back to working the room, but I'm sure I'll see you again sometime." Hughes leaned in closer to speak privately. "I've never seen Peter as happy as he is when he talks about you. I hope you plan on sticking around."

Neal just nodded, shocked into silence, and watched as Hughes walked over to look at some of the art on the walls. Peter looked over at his captain and back at Neal, then drew Neal into a quiet corner. "Are you okay? Did he say something to upset you?"

Neal realized what his reaction must have looked like, and he shook it off. "No, not at all. I like him."

Peter didn't look entirely convinced. "What did he say?"

Neal shrugged. "He told me to stick around." Neal's agent was trying to get his attention, so he gave Peter a quick kiss then stepped around him to go see what Evelyn needed.

In between greeting the people he knew, Neal was busy talking to various people from the art world, and his agent alerted him to the presence of critics and likely buyers. By the time she left, Neal knew she was pleased with the buzz she'd heard in the room. A couple of paintings were already marked as sold and more were on hold for sales that would probably go through within the next week, which was a huge relief considering that his income from sales had dwindled to almost nothing since the injury that had interrupted his career. He had some money in the bank still, and June had made it clear that she considered him family, but he didn't like the idea of relying on her for more than housing.

Finally, later than planned, the gallery door was locked again. Neal let Peter shepherd him back to the little room where he'd left his personal things while Holly started the process of closing up the gallery. Neal leaned against the wall while he took off his tie and opened the top button of his shirt, afraid he wouldn't want to get up if he sat down, and Peter looked concerned.

"Are you okay?" He didn't seem reassured by Neal's answering nod. "I don't think you've said a word in the last fifteen minutes."

Neal blinked. "Oh, I, uh." Neal closed his eyes and his mouth and focused on getting his tongue back in line with his brain. He didn't usually have trouble anymore, but the aphasia that had frustrated him after his surgery lingered just enough to trip him up sometimes when he was exhausted. When he opened his eyes Peter looked even more worried. "Just tired," Neal said with more effort than should have been necessary.

Peter nodded then and gave him a sympathetic smile. Neal gathered the clothes Peter had peeled off of him earlier then turned to go, grateful to be on his way home. He waved good-bye to Holly then walked out into the cold with Peter's arm around him. On the short walk to the car, they passed storefronts decorated with red and green twinkling lights for Christmas, which was only weeks away. Neal hadn't yet figured out what to get Peter for their first holiday together, but he figured there was plenty of time and a city full of possible gifts.

Neal sighed in relief as he relaxed into the passenger seat in Peter's car, grateful for the thoughtfulness that had prompted Peter to make sure he had an easy ride home. Peter started the car and adjusted the heat then reached over to put a hand on Neal's thigh.

"Do you want to go back to my place tonight? Just think, there's an elevator."

Neal had been fantasizing about his own bed, but Peter's bed was the next best thing, and the idea of trading three flights of stairs for an elevator ride was appealing. "Thanks. Yeah."

"Good." Peter squeezed Neal's thigh then put his hand back on the steering wheel and pulled out onto the street.

Neal let himself drift while Peter drove, and it was the quiet inside the car the made him realize that the stress of the evening and the hours spent surrounded by a talkative crowd had left him with an aching head. It was nothing serious and didn't feel likely to move in that direction, but he dug around in his bag until he found a pill and put it into his mouth to dissolve, just in case. He would be asleep soon either way.

"Everything okay?"

"Mm-hmm."

Peter didn't say anything else, and Neal just watched the lights go by until Peter was parked at his building. Peter came around and opened Neal's door before Neal could do more than untangle himself from the seatbelt. Neal let Peter take his bag and lead him to the elevator and down the hall to his apartment. Neal could have managed on his own, but it was nice to just let go for a while. He liked the idea of coming home to Peter--or Peter coming home to him--every night, but that was a more complicated issue than he was willing to tackle at the moment.

The status quo of spending a few nights each week together at either Peter's apartment or Neal's suite in June's house had them each keeping toothbrushes and some other necessities at both places, and Neal was grateful for that as he headed directly to the bathroom to brush his teeth. When he got to the bedroom, he found Peter stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt. "Nice," he said, raising one eyebrow in a lazy attempt at flirting.

"Your turn," Peter said. He reached for the lapels of Neal's suit and ignored Neal's attempt to take care of it himself. "I know you can do it, but remember? Star treatment tonight." Neal relaxed and let Peter remove his jacket then stood still while Peter undid all the buttons on his shirt then slipped it down from his arms. Peter undid Neal's belt, unzipped his pants and pushed them down then knelt at Neal's feet to finish undressing him. Neal looked down at him and felt a soft kind of love expand from his chest down into his belly and up to his head, filling him entirely.

Peter stood up and put Neal's cuff links on top of his dresser next to Peter's watch then got hangers from his closet to neatly hang each part of Neal's suit. The covers on the bed were already turned down, and when Neal was down to his boxers Peter put a hand on his bare back and steered him over toward the bed.

"Wait." Neal turned around and leaned into Peter, resting his face on the juncture of Peter's neck and shoulder. "Thank you." The words were quiet, but Neal had never meant them more. "Love you."

"I love you, too." Peter pushed Neal away gently until he had little choice but to get in the bed. "Now _sleep_. I'm just going to take care of a few things, then I'll be in to join you."

Neal gave in and closed his eyes, letting the pleasant exhaustion of a good, long day pull him down toward sleep. He knew the bed wouldn't be half-empty for long.


End file.
